


Shelter

by Destina



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 07:20:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17259971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destina/pseuds/Destina
Summary: Sam and Steve, right after the fall of SHIELD.





	Shelter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [innie_darling (innie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/innie/gifts).



> for innie_darling, who gave me the prompt: _Sam and Steve, low-key downtime _. Takes place after Steve gets out of the hospital in Winter Soldier, but before Steve and Sam meet up with Fury.__

Sam's coffee was the best Steve had tasted in a long time - strong, dark, no cream or sugar or flavorings that made everything taste and smell weird. 

"This reminds me of Army coffee," he told Sam, after draining his third cup. "We used to say if you can stand a spoon up in it, it's almost strong enough."

"Hold up, hold up just a damn minute, did you just compare my excellent Air National Guard brew to your Army nonsense?" Sam stopped mid-pour; Steve maneuvered his cup closer to the pot. 

"Sorry, must be the brain trauma." 

"You know that excuse only works once, right?" Sam said, but he was grinning. Steve smiled back, a genuine smile because now he had a full cup. "Also, you're a super-soldier, your grey matter does that freaky regrowing-itself stuff, so don't try to con me, Captain Wholesome."

Steve nodded, and went back to mowing his way through the plate of scrambled eggs Sam had set before him - extra cheese, and broccoli, and some fried potatoes, folded right in. Sam had been kind enough to offer him a place to stay, right around the time Steve had recovered enough to start wondering how to live in an apartment with bullet holes in the walls and bloodstains on the floor. He wasn't squeamish, but there was a part of him that was weary of the lies and the death, and that same part would always see Bucky running along the edge of the roof, his metal arm catching the light as he leaped.

He'd been thinking about Bucky, too - where he might be, if he was all right. He had nearly beaten Steve to death, but Steve hadn't gone easy on Bucky, either. It was keeping him awake nights, thinking about that sickening crunch of bone when he'd dislocated Bucky's shoulder and broken his arm. 

He shuddered and set his fork down. 

"Drink your juice," Sam ordered without looking at him. He was absorbed in something on his iPad, and he pushed the full glass of OJ toward Steve with one finger. Steve obliged; juice he could handle, because it didn't require an appetite. Sam continued ignoring him, and after a moment, Steve sighed and tucked in to his food. It really was delicious. 

Just about the time Steve was ready to push back his chair and thank Sam, and declare that he should get going (though he had no idea where to go) - Sam said, "While you were unconscious, I broke into your murder den, and after I grabbed your toothbrush and jammies, I stole that little notebook you keep all your secret plans in."

"Secret plans?" Steve said, and then, "Oh, right. Trouble Man. Which was excellent, by the way."

"Glad you had enough sense left to appreciate good music when you hear it," Sam said. "I have more where that came from. But right now what I want to know is, who have you been talking to about these things? Because Steve, that list is...well, I'm gonna charitably call it bland in the entertainment department."

"Natasha was the one who suggested the Rocky movies," Steve said mildly. 

"Lucky you, those suggestions I agree with. But listen, we are starting with some classic cinema." Sam set two plastic cases on the table, and with a flourish like some kind of mustache-twirling villain, pushed them across the table to Steve. "Premium film experiences."

Steve picked up the cases. "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory," he read aloud, and then shifted the other case so he could see the title. "2001: A Space Odyssey."

"I'm going to blow open the doors of your mind," Sam said solemnly. "And if we make it through those, I'm going to break out Rocky IV, which our spy friend conveniently left out."

As it turned out, the only things blown open were Steve's eardrums, because Sam fell asleep in the middle of the movie with the crazy computer and began snoring - soft rhythmic snores, at first, like a bumblebee circling a pretty flower, and then much louder. Very much louder; Steve thought Sam might drown out a running jackhammer. Steve muted the TV, because Sam needed the sleep. He'd been running himself ragged helping out with the cleanup at the Triskelion, and taking on extra group sessions at the VA. Too many veterans triggered by this latest round of death from the sky, and friends who'd paid the price for their service. Some were struggling with betrayals too deep to process without help. 

On top of all that, he'd taken in Steve, who was a mess of grief and half-healed broken bones, and given him a blissfully rock-hard mattress to sleep on while Sam took the couch. And there was more to it, though they hadn't had the conversation yet; a pile of research was stacked messily on the bottom shelf of Sam's coffee table, things Steve had sifted out from the massive data dump Natasha had flung onto the internet. Bits and pieces of ghost stories too incredible to be true, and yet at the edges of every one of them, Steve could see Bucky's shadow. 

"Tell me about him," Sam had said that first night, while Steve sat hunched over his notes, his vision blurred more from tears than from the damage to his eye socket. And Steve had, for hours, while Sam put fresh coffee in front of him, and then beers, and then finally straight shots of whiskey that couldn't medicate Steve the way he'd been wishing for since the night Bucky fell. He wanted Sam to see what he saw, see past the thing Hydra had thrown at them. He did his best to build a time machine with his stories, and travel back to the days when Bucky's laughter and bad jokes and his friendship had been the only thing between Steve and his misery. 

"Guess a guy is lucky if he has one, maybe two friends like that in a lifetime," Sam had said, swirling the coffee in his cup around. 

"Yeah," Steve had said. He'd taken Sam's cup and dumped out the dregs, and when he brought back a fresh cup, he'd pushed his notes aside. "So, how did you and Riley meet?"

"Not in an alley with me getting my ass whooped, that's for damn sure," Sam had said, chuckling, before launching into a story about what an arrogant dick his best friend had been when they both first put on the wings. 

There were all kinds of trauma and loss in the world. Yet somehow, Steve had crossed paths with the one person who understood the sick, desperate feeling of watching a person you love fall from your grasp, growing smaller and smaller until they vanish from sight. 

Steve quietly switched off the TV, and while Sam snored away, made a quick run down to the market for supplies. By the time Sam's snores tapered off into a nearly-awake state, Steve had a roast seared and into the pan, and potatoes and carrots cut up to nest around it. The whole apartment was filled with the delicious smells of pot roast in no time, and it was enough to lure Sam off the couch, mostly awake and yawning. 

"Are you in here destroying my kitchen? - wait, what is that? Is Captain America cooking a pot roast? You whip up an apple pie too while I wasn't looking?" Sam's hopeful grin was priceless. 

"Trust me, any pie I'd make wouldn't be edible. But I did get ice cream. Also, I almost brought home a dog. There was a kid giving away puppies down by the corner market."

"Don't tell me - golden retrievers?" 

"More like cute, mixed-up mutts." 

"Got enough strays in here," Sam said, eyeing Steve with a grin. "But you feel free to bring home dinner anytime."

"It'll be a few hours," Steve said. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and handed it to Sam, who was already pulling down the giant bag of tortilla chips from the cabinet over the stove. Steve got a jar of salsa and followed Sam back to the living room, where Sam stopped and looked warily at the couch. 

"Want to go for a nice long run?" Steve suggested innocently. 

"Yes. And I absolutely am not going to do that," Sam said, passing the couch by to sit on the floor. He pulled the corner of the coffee table closer and plunked down his beer and snacks. "So, 2001 - hit or miss?"

"Miss. 'Bout halfway through I started to worry that JARVIS is going to murder Tony in his sleep."

"I haven't even met Stark and I'm still guessing JARVIS thinks about that at least once a day." They both laughed, and Steve shook his head, still smiling. 

"So what's next?" he asked, reaching for the remote. 

"What's next is, are you gonna tell me about that little stack of maps you're hiding over there using my niece's picture as a paperweight?"

Steve handed the remote to Sam, and said quietly, "Tomorrow, maybe."

"All right," Sam said. "You've got two choices: terrible kids competing to see who gets to run the chocolate factory, or two guys beating each other to a bloody pulp in the name of freedom."

"One of those sounds like working with SHIELD," Steve said, making a face. 

"Rocky IV it is then," Sam answered, and got up to put in the movie. 

This time, it was Steve who drifted off in the middle, with Sam's mom's green afghan pillowed under his head. He dreamed of climbing snowy mountains in the sunshine, searching for something that was just out of reach, with Sam circling watchful overhead.


End file.
